


mondays on an endless loop

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e14 Monday, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: 6x14 monday; five mondays (that never happened)





	mondays on an endless loop

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a part of the rewatch series, but i abandoned it back in january with only the first part written because i figured it was too close to the fountain. but i loved the first part way too much to abandon it completely. so i impulse-finished it, because i love monday and i really wanted to do a monday fic. this episode is a masterpiece.
> 
> warning for violence and depictions of death. this is a serious angst-fest, guys. pain all the way.
> 
> thanks to @i-gaze-at-scully for her support and her suggestions for section 2.

**i.**

She holds him on the floor of the bank with all the trembling movements she's imagined in this moment, in the moments when she'd pictured Mulder dying and hated herself for it. Her hand pressed to his bleeding chest. His head heavy in her lap. She presses her hand harder against the wound and brings her other hand to his cheek, stroking the line of his cheekbone with her thumb; she wants him to know she's here, that she's got him. She is smearing blood on his cheek.  _ His  _ blood. She feels like she might vomit. 

Bernard watches them with an attention that he isn't giving the other hostages. Of course not; he knows that they are law enforcement, and Mulder is bleeding out on the goddamn floor. “Bernard,” she says carefully, but her voice is shaking, tear-choked. It's hard to get the words out. It takes a few seconds to get the composure to continue. “I have to get my partner out of here.” 

She knows what will happen if she doesn't get him out. He's already lost a lot of blood. And she can't, she can't lose him.

Bernard says, “I am blowing this whole freaking place right off the map if they come in here.” He flips up the switch on his bomb, arming it.

“Oh…” she says, shaky, “look, they don't know that. Don't you realize that? They can't see you. They don't know what your plan is.”

“They better know,” says Bernard, fierce and clearly terrified. It's obvious he's never done this before, he has not planned well. “They damn well better figure it out.”

She knows what will happen if they don't: they will burst in and he will pull the trigger and they will all go up in flames and shrapnel. She can't let that happen. She has to get Mulder out of here. And they'll never know the danger unless he shows them. “Look…” she tries, desperate. “Just walk in front of the door and show them.”

“You wanna get me killed!” he says angrily, lifting the gun to aim at her. At them. 

“Oh, god,” she whispers, looking down at Mulder. He's barely lucid, his head rolling in her lap. She is losing him. Biting back tears, she looks up at Bernard and says quietly, “I just want everybody to live. That's all. I just... just show them.”

She is about to say more, but Bernard seems to be considering. He jabs the gun at her, snarls, “You're telling me… if I show them I have a bomb, they won't come in here?”

She grasps onto this last little fleeting scrap of hope. “Yes,” she says hurriedly, pressing her hand harder over Mulder's leaking wound. He grunts in pain, but she cannot focus on that right now. She is going to get him out of here. “They won't risk the lives of civilians. They won't come running in here if they know you have a bomb.”

“They'll let me out of here?” He is nervous, as if not daring to hope. His thumb teases the trigger gingerly, one flick away from killing them all. The woman behind them, the one who screamed and got Mulder shot, sobs louder.

Scully knows they won't. She offers, “They'll negotiate. You'll have a better chance of getting out of here.”

Bernard swallows, considering. Then he turns, goes to the door with his jacket gaping open, the bomb visible. Relief curdles low in Scully's stomach, brief hope. Bernard stands at the glass door, gestures to his chest and shouts something to the people outside. Scully isn't listening. She looks down at Mulder. He is breathing, slower, but he is still breathing. “Hang on, Mulder,” she whispers. “I'm going to get you out of here.”

He looks up at her with glazed eyes. She moves her thumb against his cheek again and again. She won't stop touching him. She wants him to know she is here. 

On the desk, the phone rings. Bernard yells, “Stay down!” He waves his gun at them, before crossing the room to pick the phone up. Scully looks away from Mulder, towards Bernard. He picks up the phone and starts to shout into it. Something about a deal. About wanting transportation. Maybe if they heard the gunshots, they'll bargain to get Mulder out of here, to a hospital. She doesn't care what happens to her as long as Mulder gets out of here. She counts the shuddering breaths that Mulder is taking, pretending that they aren't slowing. She starts to pray. She doesn't hear what Bernard is saying until he slams the phone down. 

Scully jolts, looking up at him. He's pacing the room anxiously, finger hovering over the trigger. “Bernard?” she asks tentatively. “Bernard, what happened? Why did you hang up?”

“Shut up!” He jabs the gun in her direction, and a panicked grunting sound comes from Mulder. Scully looks down in surprise, and sees that despite the fact that Mulder barely looks alive, despite the clearness in his eyes and the blood trickling out of his mouth, he looks scared for her. Scared Bernard will shoot her.  _ Oh, Mulder, _ she thinks sadly, stroking his cheek again, his hair, tears burning at the back of her eyes.

Bernard is still talking, still pacing. “They said they'd get me transportation if I let the guy who got shot go,” he says. “I told them bullshit, I wasn't letting anyone come in here to get him. I told them they could have him after I left. They have to let me leave first.”

Scully's blood shoots through with ice water. Mulder's breaths are slowing, rattling; she knows he doesn't have long. He needs blood and a hospital, now. “Bernard, please,” she says, and she is pleading now, her voice cracking, near tears. “My partner is going to die if you don't let him leave.” Her hands are caked with Mulder's blood. He is going to die, and he cannot die. She feels like she is going to vomit. “Just… just let him go. Let them come in here. They won't hurt you. They're… they're more likely to let you leave if you let someone go, especially someone who is hurt…”

Bernard laughs bitterly. “I know what’ll happen if they come in here. They'll kill me. And I'm not going to let that happen.” His finger hovers over the trigger, and Scully shudders. She thinks that might be a tear sliding down her face, but that is impossible because she doesn't cry in front of people. She has to get Mulder out. “I asked for safe passage out,” he continues. “They give me that, your partner can go to the hospital.”

They won't give him that. They won't give him that, but Scully hopes. They have to, maybe if they know that someone is dying in here… As Bernard walks away, she leans over Mulder, whispers, “Just hang on a little longer, Mulder.” A tear drips off of her nose and rolls down Mulder's cheek. “Just a little longer. Please, Mulder. Stay with me, don't you dare leave me.”

His heartbeats are slowing under her fingers, fluttering in the matter of the dying baby bird she and Charlie tried to save one time as kids, the one they couldn't save. She has watched people die before, but she can't watch Mulder die. She can't lose him. She takes her hand off of his face to wipe away her tears and smears his blood across her cheek. 

“Scu… ly,” says Mulder. He takes another breath, and he sounds horrible, inches away. His eyes are half-closed. 

“Don't try to talk, Mulder,” she whispers. She moves her hand back to his face, brushing his sweaty hair away, touching his cheek, his forehead. She's forgotten everyone else in the bank; it's just the two of them. “Just… just keep breathing, Mulder,” she says. “Hang on, okay? Keep breathing, Mulder, please.”

He doesn't listen, because of course he doesn't. He rasps, “I'm… sorry,” and then his mouth shuts and he says no more. Heartbeats slowing, slowing.

She's shaking her head because this cannot be happening. She says, “Sorry? Mulder, what the hell do you have to be sorry for?” She's crying, and she's doing it quietly, and she's absolutely furious at him.  _ Don't die and you'll never have to apologize again, Mulder, damnit. Hang on. _

He doesn't answer. But he opens his eyes. He meets her eyes, and he's looking her in the eye when he dies. When his heartbeats stop, with her hands on his face and over his chest so that she can feel it perfectly. 

After that, Scully doesn't remember much of anything. 

Minutes or hours later, Skinner has his hand on her shoulder, and he's speaking to her in a low, rumbling, soothing voice. “Scully,” he's saying, and he sounds terribly sad, too. “Scully, you have to let go. You have to let him go. You have to let them take him.”

She looks down and she's still holding Mulder. He's limp in her lap, stiff, and his eyes are still open. His eyes are still open. There are paramedics with a black body bag, and she is going to be sick. “No,” she says, and she tightens her hold on him. 

“He's gone, Dana.” Skinner squeezes her shoulder. “He's gone. You need to let him go.”

“No,” she says, and she's crying again, shaking her head wildly. “I can't let them take him.”

“You have to,” Skinner says firmly, and she sees that he is crying, too. They are late for a meeting, Skinner is going to be pissed. Mulder, the irresponsible, selfish FBI agent who told her she was making things personal. Mulder, her sweet, irresponsible partner who she's in love with. Mulder, who cannot possibly be dead.

She leans down and kisses his forehead. He is so cold. She closes his eyes and leaves no smear of blood because it's all dried, a rust smear on her hands. And then she lets him go. Shuddering from head to toe, she lets them take him away and hates herself for it. She's let him down, after all the times he saved her, and how the fuck could she do this to him. 

Skinner helps her up and leads her out of the bank. They pass Bernard outside, being cuffed and lead into a police car. Scully wishes she'd been the one to take him down, to aim a gun at him and pull the fucking trigger. She's tempted to push past the SWAT team, the police and Skinner, to feel the sting of her knuckles across Bernard's cheeks, hit him until her pain goes away. But she doesn't. She lets Skinner guide her to the car.

Skinner tries to drive her home, and she shakes her head and tells him to take her to Mulder's. “I don't think that's a good idea,” he says gently, and she reaches for the door handle. So he takes her to Alexandria, and he doesn't follow her up after she snaps at him, after she screams at him. She suspects he will be back later, but she doesn't care. She's going to lock the door, she's going to deadbolt it.

She lets herself in with her key. She unbuttons her coat and goes to hang it on the coat rack, and that's when she sees the blood staining her midsection. Mulder's blood smeared up and down the front of her shirt. Nausea washes over her in waves; she sprints to Mulder's bathroom and loses her breakfast over the toilet.

Her eyes and throat burn in tandem as she hunches over the bowl, retching and gasping for breath. And then she's fumbling for the buttons, she's peeling the shirt off so fast that she rips a few buttonholes. It's  _ his _ blood, and she's draping it over the towel rack, gently. It's Mulder's blood, and it's all she has left of him, but she doesn't want an ounce of it on her skin. 

She feels like retching again, but she doesn’t. She scrubs her hands and watches the water swirl a muddy crimson towards the drain. She is Lady Macbeth, dooming the one she loves. She wipes her face, but the tears keep flowing. She walks into Mulder's bedroom, and it is a puddle. The mattress of a water bed she didn't know he had lies deflated on the skeleton of the bed. She squelches through the mess, over to a shirt he carelessly threw over the top of a table. It smells like him when she pulls it over her head, even if it is a little wet. 

She sits on the floor, hands clasped in her lap, and lets the water soak her. She ignores the tears rolling down her face, the pounding of Skinner's fist on the door. She closes her eyes. She covers her face with her hands and sobs. 

 

**ii.**

It's his fault. Everything that happens is his fault. He always knew something like this would happen because of him. 

He runs into the bank despite what the strange woman tells him, runs in and finds Scully in a standoff with a skinny, nervous man in a green jacket. “Drop your weapon!” he shouts, aiming at the man— _ Bernard,  _ he reminds himself, remembering his conversation with the woman outside—and Scully echoes, “Drop it,” in a steady, stern tone, the two of them in tandem the way they always seem to be. There's a woman shot on the floor, a victim of the gunshot he heard a minute ago, and in the moment, he's just relieved that it's not Scully; he'd thought it was Scully, been terrified it was Scully.

“I ain't dropping nothing,” Bernard snaps. “You put yours down.” When they don't, he adds a frantic, “I'll shoot her!”, indicating Scully.

His stomach plunges out from under him, but he pretends that he is calm as he says in a warning voice, “What do you think I'll do then?” He is dead if he so much as lays a finger on her.

In response, Bernard yanks open his jacket to reveal the series of explosions strapped to his chest. Mulder meets Scully's eyes, his nerves only rising as he mentally revises that threat, because the bomb on his goddamn chest could blow them all away. How the hell are they going to get out of this one, when Bernard has such an effective bargaining tool?

He can only think of one way, the woman outside who warned him about all of this. He has to reach Bernard on a personal level.

“Bernard…” Mulder says cautiously, in some attempt to make a connection with the robber, to talk him down. “That's your name, right?”

Bernard looks at him with nervous, darting eyes, a little bit in confusion. Scully shoots him a similar, confused look, begins to kneel by the woman who was shot to check on her. 

It all happens too fast to stop it. 

The sudden movement must spook Bernard, because he immediately turns back to Scully and pulls the trigger. No hesitation. Scully goes down mid-crouch, hitting the floor with a wet smack, a stunned look on her face. 

Mulder cries out without thought, without coherent words. He's screaming something, either her name or a protest or both, remembering his threat to Bernard if he shot Scully, and he starts towards her, but is stopped in his tracks by the sudden presence of metal at his chest. “Don't you move a fucking muscle,” Bernard says, steel and fear somehow both in his eyes, his voice shaking. He reaches out and takes Mulder’s gun easily from his hand, throws it across the floor.

Scully's lying spread-eagle on the floor, red stain blossoming on her shirt as she takes uneven breaths, and all Mulder can think is, _Not again_ , thinking of Scully in the hospital in New York, Scully's slow fucking recovery and that weasel who shot her, her hand in his as he sat by his bed, _not again…_ All he can do is look at her and try not to cry out, to throw up, to kill Bernard where he stands. “Let me help her,” he says, pleading in his voice, and he tries to push past Bernard despite the gun to his chest. “She's my partner, let me help her, please…” 

“I'll shoot you, too!” Bernard shouts, nearly hysterical. People are crying around him, behind him, he thinks someone screamed. “Don't think I won't! I ain't afraid to shoot you!”

On the floor, Scully says, “Mulder, do—” but she breaks off, coughing wetly. She's got a hand to her chest, awkwardly trying to put pressure on the wound, and she's silently pleading with him not to do anything stupid, her eyes desperate. 

Tears are stinging the backs of his eyes; he swallows harshly and says, “Don't try to talk, Scully.” This is all his fault, he never should've fucking agreed to let her run his errands. It should be him on that floor. Two gunshot wounds in a few months period, how the hell does this keep happening to her. It should be him down there, it should be him.

Bernard pushes at his chest with the gun again, and Mulder stumbles back this time, helpless, afraid he won't be able to help Scully if he fights back. “Get on the floor,” Bernard says, shoving him to the ground and pointing the gun right at his head. 

Mulder goes, if only because he can't stop considering all the factors. Scully, bleeding out feet away from him, and the explosives on Bernard's chest. They're all dead if he pulls that trigger. And there is the other women who is hurt, who is probably a lot closer to death than Scully is. He needs to stop this. Mulder swallows roughly again, tries, “Bernard, you need to let the injured women go. They need medical attention, and they need it now.” Bernard looks at him with dead eyes, and Mulder adds, desperately, “You can end this the right way.”

Sirens wail to life suddenly, in the distance, and Bernard looks even more resigned. “This is all gonna be over real soon,” he says. 

Mulder can hear every breath that Scully is taking, every struggling, strained breath, and he tries to get up again, to go to her, but Bernard shoves him back down roughly. “ _ Don't _ ,” Scully insists, faintly but firmly, before she dissolves into coughing again. 

“You stay here,” Bernard says. And then he's shouting in that same hysterical matter: “Any of you move, and I swear to God I'll put a bullet in your skulls!” And then he's moving towards the front door, his gun held tightly by his side. 

Mulder doesn't move, much as he wants to; he's too scared of what Bernard will do to Scully if he moves. He does turn towards her though, tries to assess her situation just by looking at her, but she is the doctor and he is ignorant in these things and her face is white and her shirt is stained red with her blood. He wants to throw up. 

“I'm going to get you out of here,” he says softly, hoping that she can hear him. 

She doesn't speak, but her eyes are surprisingly alert; her leg is moving, off to the side, and he'd like nothing more than to hold her, to try and help her. “Don't move too much,” he tries, moving a few inches closer, hoping Bernard isn't watching. “It's okay.”

Scully grunts, very pointedly, and he sees her leg moving again. He looks down to her foot and sees what she is doing: she's sliding her gun over towards him with her foot. Bernard forgot to get it. 

Something like amazement bubbles up in Mulder's chest, amazement at how fucking strong his partner is even in a situation like this, and he tries to slide closer. Across the bank, Bernard yells, “I  _ told _ you not to fucking move!” He still can't reach Scully, so she kicks it towards him—weakly, but it's enough. It goes sliding towards him, and he grabs it and tucks it under the hem of his coat, praying Bernard didn't notice. 

Bernard is back in a second and he is shouting at Mulder, waving his gun around like the madman he is, and Scully looks furious and scared and in pain, and Mulder just watches her. She is dying. His partner is dying, and there's nothing he can do. He feels so fucking helpless. He's furious; he wants to tear Bernard limb from limb, wants to turn back time and jump in front of Scully, take the bullet for her. Anything but this. He can't lose her. He cannot lose her. 

He tries, again, to get Bernard to call an ambulance, to get Bernard to let him go to her. Bernard refuses. The police are here now, Mulder can see the lights through the blinds, and Bernard won't last much longer. The woman who was shot isn't breathing anymore, and Scully won't last much longer, either. Mulder wants to cry, to scream, to tear the goddamn bank apart. To crack the earth and bring down the skies. Anything to save her.

But he pleads, because all he can do is plead. “Bernard, please,” he says softly, begging. “Please let me go to my partner. I… I won't cause any trouble, if you just let me help her.” He doesn't know what the hell he could do, but anything would be better than this.

Bernard seems to consider it for a moment before he shakes his head, his chin trembling. His mind seems to be somewhere else. “T-they’re supposed to call, right?” he says. “They're supposed to call me?”

“They won't call,” Mulder snaps, probably more harshly than he should but he doesn't care. Scully is dying, and he needs to get her help before he loses her forever. “They don't understand the magnitude of the situation. You have to  _ negotiate _ with them, Bernard, you have to tell them you have a goddamn bomb.”

Bernard shakes his head, turns around and stalks away. “I know how this works!” he shouts. “I go up there, and I'm dead! I'm fucking dead, and I am not going out alone!”

Mulder isn't listening anymore. His eyes are on Scully, who's breathing has slowed; he's been looking at her ever since he heard a rattly gasp, followed by near quiet, but she is still, barely breathing. “Scully, it's okay,” he whispers. “It's okay, hold on, I'm gonna get you out of here, just hold on.” 

Scully coughs, hard, blood staining her lips, and Mulder shudders, blurts out, “Scully, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant for this to happen. Please, just… hold on. Please hold on, Scully, please.” He's reaching for her unconsciously, his arm stretched out to its full length, but his fingertips come just shy of her shoes.

Her eyes are glazed, fading, half-closed, but she's looking at him. She mouths something at him, and it takes a moment for it to click, but she is saying,  _ Now _ . A tear drips down her face.

He turns and sees Bernard across the room from them, turned away. He realizes in a moment that this is his opportunity, and he touches the gun under his jacket. He'd shoot him right now, but Bernard is pretty far away, and if Bernard falls forward, the bomb might go off. If Bernard falls backwards, the bomb might go off. Maybe it'd be better to try and negotiate with him; it'd certainly be safer. But he doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to risk it taking too long, to risk his partner… 

The sound of Scully's slow, rattling breaths, slower and slower, are all he needs to make his decision. 

Bernard has turned towards the hostages now, is striding across the room, and Mulder curls his hand around the gun underneath his jacket. “Bernard, please,” he calls out, and he doesn't have to fake the desperation in his voice. “My partner needs help.  _ Please. _ ”

Bernard turns on him furiously, reaching down to arm the bomb as he snaps, “I am blowing this whole freaking place right off the map if they co—”

In one fluid motion, Mulder yanks the gun out and pulls the trigger, too quickly for Bernard to react somehow, somehow. It's probably stupid, it's almost definitely stupid, one wrong move could kill them all, but he can hear Scully's faint, weak breathing, and he just wants to get her out of here. He prays, for a split second, that they aren't all going to die here. 

Bernard falls backwards, landing with the explosives pointed up, his hand falling away from the bomb. A bullet hole in his forehead. The bomb doesn't go off. 

The hostages are screaming and crying, the police outside are shouting, but Mulder doesn't care. He surges forward and goes down on his knees beside Bernard, reaching for his pulse, and finds nothing. No chance of him pulling the trigger. It's all okay now, he can help Scully.

The SWAT team is charging in, but Mulder is paying absolutely no attention. He turns and skids to Scully's side, his knees burning as they rub against the tiles. “Scully, it's okay, it's over,” he's whispering to try and reassure her, fumbling to touch her cheek, her forehead, but she's not responding. She's not moving at all, in fact. The blood is caked on her clothes, but her chest is still,  _ she _ is still, her eyes are shut, she is not breathing…

Mulder presses two fingers to her neck and finds nothing. A stony stillness under his skin. 

“ _ No _ ,” he moans, “no, no, no, no,” and he's leaning over her, his hands pressed to her still chest, pumping up and down in the motions of CPR. He counts off the beats, his hands trembling as he tries to pump life back into his partner, the way he did in Antarctica, and it can't end like this… He covers her mouth with his and tries to breathe for her, his hands work at her chest again and again, but nothing is working, nothing is working, and his tears are dripping onto Scully's rust-red shirt. “Scully, don't do this,” he says, pleading, and his hands are shaking, cupping the side of her face, and she's so  _ cold _ , so still. “Please don't do this, don't leave me, I'm so sorry.” He can suddenly only think of the past few months, the things he said to her— _ You're making this personal _ —and the indignant hurt on her face, and oh god, why did he ever fuck this up. This is his fault, it should've been him. “Please,” he whimpers. “Please, don't. Please.”

Her eyes are closed, he thinks as he clutches her stiff fingers in his. All he can think is that he's relieved of that. He never wants to see the lifelessness in her eyes. Ignore the blood on her shirt, and she could be sleeping.

But he should've saved her, he should've  _ been _ here, he should've held her, tried to keep the blood in, should've shot Bernard sooner and carried her out of here. Should've taken the bullet for her, should've taken down Bernard faster, should've done something, anything. But she's gone now. She's gone, she died alone, he finally lost her, he's too late. 

Someone has a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him away, and he shakes them off hard. The hand returns and Mulder whirls around and hits the man hard in the face. His knuckles sting. But he's not leaving her. He gathers her up and she goes limply, limbs flopping like a rag doll, but he doesn't let go. Doesn't let go until they pull her away. 

Mulder falls apart on the bloodstained tile floor of the Eighth Street Cradock Marine Bank, his knuckles stinging,his face wet. Scully's blood smeared on his shirt. He falls apart, cracks open the earth and brings down the skies with his howling sobs. 

  
  


**iii.**

Mulder doesn't shoot Bernard. He doesn't dare, because the robber pulls open his jacket as soon as he pulls his gun and everyone sees the explosives. It makes the hostages docile instantly, makes Mulder reluctant to rebel. 

He tries to keep Scully out, shouts at the robber to lock the front door before she can come in and be stuck here in danger, but he does it too late and Scully enters, pauses when she sees the gun pointed at her chest, the explosives strapped to  _ his _ chest. Mulder is tempted to stand and shoot him, but he doesn't dare risk it, not when the man has the opportunity to end them all with one flick of his finger. 

Scully raises her hands cautiously in surrender, and the robber's hand snaps out and closes around her wrist. He yanks her forward and shoves her to the ground. She lands awkwardly beside Mulder, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from yelling at the man not to touch her, to get his fucking hands off her.

The gun wavers in the air, pointed absently at Scully's head. Scully is breathing unsteadily, but other than that, she remains calm. “Don't move a muscle,” he growls. “Stay down.” Scully nods, shifting onto her stomach like the rest of the hostages, just a few inches away from Mulder, hands flat on the floor beside her head.

The man whirls and heads for the door, to lock it, and Scully whispers, “Are you okay, Mulder?” in a voice laced with caution, with worry.

He nods, his eyes glued to the robber. “He's got a bomb,” he says, pointing out the obvious. “I don't think we'll be able to take him down, at least not easily.”

Scully nods; he sees it out of the corner of his eye. The man crosses the room to pull the teller off of the floor and pulls her towards the ATM. The woman on Mulder's other side is sobbing hysterically. And suddenly, far away but getting closer, the sound of sirens. 

The man's face turns red. “What the hell did you do?” he shouts at the teller, who shrinks away from him in fear. He shoves the woman back to the ground and stalks across the room, covering his eyes with his hands as the teller crawls over to join the other hostages.

Mulder's nerves rise at the sounds of those sirens; he'd hoped that the robber would get what he wanted and leave. But now it might be hours before they get out,  _ if  _ they get out—this guy strikes him as the impulsive type, the type to lose it and pull the trigger. He looks over at Scully, who has the same nervous look on her face. On his own impulse, he slides his hand across the floor to cover hers. 

Scully speaks, suddenly, startling the hell out of Mulder. “What's your name?” she asks, addressing the robber who is admittedly not far away from them, and Mulder snatches his hand back before the robber can see them.

The robber turns towards them sharply, laughs at Scully's words. “Yeah,” he says dismissively. 

“I got to call you something, right?” Scully asks gently, her voice so calm it startles Mulder. “How about Steve?” she offers. “It's a nice… honest name.”

“Bernard,” the man corrects harshly, running a hand over his face. 

“Bernard,” Scully repeats in that same calm voice, meant to soothe. “Bernard, it's not too late.”

“You can fix this, Bernard. You can end this the right way,” Mulder adds. 

They can all hear the police sirens wailing, the SWAT team gathering. Bernard scrubs a hand over his face again, asks of no one in particular, “They're supposed to call, right? They're supposed to call in here?”

“They're not gonna call,” says Scully. “They can't see you. They won't call you because they don't know what your plan is.”

“They better know,” Bernard snaps. “They damn well better figure it out. Cause I am blowing this whole freaking place right off the map if they come in here.” He reaches down to arm his bomb in one fluid motion. 

“They don't  _ know _ that,” Scully says insistently, and Mulder hears real fear in her voice for the first time. “Bernard, you have to make sure they…” She breaks off at the sight of his glare. 

Desperate, Mulder finishes, trying, “They won't negotiate unless they know you have the means to kill us all, Bernard. If you show them you have a bomb, then they'll…” 

“I know how that ends up,” Bernard says with a bitter laugh. “With me dead. All of you walking out of here perfectly fine.”

“Look,” Scully says from beside him, somewhere between negotiating and pleading “Just walk in front of the door and show them. It's that simple.”

“You wanna get me killed!” Bernard roars, pointing his gun right at her head. 

Mulder reaches out and seizes Scully's hand again, without thinking about it this time. They're both still on their bellies on the floor, trying to negotiate in this strange position, and he feels ridiculous, and he's terrified of Bernard pulling that trigger. The other hostages are frightened, the hysterical woman is sobbing, and a SWAT team is going to come in here any minute. It can't end this way for them, they can't die here. He squeezes Scully's fingers tightly.

“I just want everybody to live,” Scully says softly. He doesn't dare look at her, watching Bernard for any signs that he'll pull that trigger. “That's all,” she says, nearly whisper. “If you'd just… just show them…”

Bernard's eyes are darting back and forth, from the door to them and then back to the door. His finger hovers over the trigger. 

“You can get out of here, Bernard,” Mulder says. Scully's hand is warm in his, and she's holding onto him with a fear-induced strength. “ _ Alive _ . You can make the right decision.”

“You have control over everything that happens here,” Scully says, almost reassuringly, but clear notes of desperation in her voice. “You do. And it doesn't have to end this way.”

There's a thumping sound outside, behind Bernard; the SWAT team is breaking in the door. “Yeah, it does,” Bernard says sadly. 

It happens so fast that Mulder has no chance of stopping it. Scully cries out in protest as Bernard pulls the trigger, and Mulder lets go of her hand. He lets go of her hand and launches himself towards her, physically shielding her with a hand over her head. He can feel every heartbeat as he curls over her, can feel Scully's warmth through his shirt. He wishes there was enough time to tell her everything he needs to tell her, but it's happening too fast. He presses his lips to the back of her head and prays that it will be quick. 

He thinks he hears Scully whisper his name from underneath him as everything goes black. 

 

**iv.**

The robber's hand shakes. That's the first thing Scully notices. It's shaking when it points the gun at her as she enters the bank, and it's shaking when he turns on Mulder and fires, sending him sprawling. Scully can't tell where he's been hit, but her stomach drops out from under her at the sound of the gunshot and twists painfully at the sight of him falling; she draws her gun immediately, shouting, “Drop it! Drop it now!”

“You drop it!” the robber roars. 

Scully is breathing hard, unsteadily as she looks at Mulder from where he fell. He sits up, unsteadily, and slumps against the counter, a hand pressed hard to his side. Blood seeping through his fingers as he meets her eyes.

The robber reaches down and rips open his jacket. “You drop it,” he insists, his eyes full of malice. 

Scully lets her gun drop without a second thought, finally understanding. The robber motions to the floor with his gun, and Scully rushes to kneel beside Mulder against the counter. “Shit shit shit,” he's chanting, pressing down hard on the wound with a grimace.

“Mulder.” She covers his hand with both of hers. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”

“It went all the way through,” Mulder says with a hiss, his teeth clenched. “Hit a rib, I think, but nothing important. Mostly a skim, I think.”

Scully's fingers move around to his back and find the exit wound. “Jesus,” she whispers, pressing the heel of her right hand there. “Mulder, we've got to get you to a hospital.”

“Guess I'm gonna be late for that meeting,” Mulder says with a strained chuckle, and Scully wants to laugh, but can't, not with his blood oozing through her fingers, warm and red. 

“He has a bomb, Mulder,” she says softly, applying pressure as much as she can; Mulder winces hard, shakes his head with the pain. “We're not going to be getting out of here easily, but I swear I'll get you out.” She adds the last part largely on instinct, but she tells herself it's true, that he'll be okay the same way he's always okay.

Mulder has a regretful look on his face, almost apologetic, and then he's looking over her shoulder, worry coming in to replace the regret. Scully looks back and sees Bernard standing over them, his face stony and stern. “They're supposed to call, aren't they?” he says, and Scully realizes that there are police gathering outside, sirens howling.

“They're not gonna ca—” Scully starts, but the words freeze in her mouth as the woman a few feet away from them begins to scream. 

She feels Mulder's free hand come down on her shoulder, pressing flat and protectively, as a woman walks onto the scene. She's thin and pale and quivering with fear, similarly to the way the robber seems to be afraid, but she's clearly not afraid of the robber because she walks right up to him. And the robber seems dismayed at the sight of her. “Pam?” he says, his voice low with horror. “How the hell did you…”

“I snuck in before it started,” the woman—Pam—says, and Scully suddenly sees the reason that woman was screaming, the gun in Pam's hand. She's not aiming it, but she's still holding it, and her fingers are unsteady around it. She laughs bitterly. “I hid in the goddamn bathroom, and you never even saw me. I walked  _ right behind you. _ ”

“You can't be in here, Pam!” the robber yelps. “Goddamnit, you can't… the cops are here, Pam, we're not getting out of here!” 

“You have to stop this, Bernard,” says Pam, and she sounds like she's on the verge of tears. “You have to surrender. You have to stop murdering these people.” She wipes her face with her free hand, the gun in her hand shaking the way that Bernard's had been earlier when he shot Mulder, and Scully presses her hands harder over the wound, absently praying that they will get out of here, that they won't be caught in the crossfire. 

“I don't have a choice, Pammy,” the man, Bernard, says, and he sounds defeated. “They're gonna come in here, they're gonna kill me, and… I had to do it. It all went wrong, though. Wasn't supposed to go this way.”

Mulder's free hand moves up and down Scully's shoulder, rubbing gently, something like fear on his face. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't know what, wants to negotiate but doesn't know how. Scully's heart is thudding hard against her ribs, and she can't breathe. Anticipating the moment Bernard will pull that goddamn trigger and kill them all.

“You've gotta get out of here, Pam,” Bernard says, wiping his nose with the hand holding the gun. He sniffles wetly. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

Pam shakes her head, tears rolling down her face. “I can't do that. I can't let you do this. Bernard, please.”

Bernard is crying, too, oblivious to the fear of his hostages. “I have to do this,” he says softly, reaches down and flicks off the safety on his bomb. Mulder's hand tightens on her shoulder. Scully shuts her eyes in protest; she wants to scream. Wants to get out of here, wants to take Mulder to the hospital and make sure he doesn't bleed out on this goddamn bank floor. It could be severe, they have no idea, he could die if he doesn't get out soon, or they could both die when Bernard pulls that fucking trigger, and it can't end this way. She lets her head fall helplessly to his shoulder, feels Mulder's fingers brush over her hair and wants to cry at the absurdity of it all.

“No, you don't,” Pam says, nearly hiccuping from the sobs. “You don't have to do anything.”

She's half-raised the gun, Scully sees as she lifts her head to watch because if there's a way to stop this from happening, she wants to. Bernard doesn't seem to notice. He steps closer to her, letting his own gun fall, lifting one hand to the switch and the other to touch Pam's cheek. “I do,” he says, resigned to their fate. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby.” 

“Bernard, listen to her,” Mulder says suddenly, and he's still holding onto her, his hands fisted in her jacket, his blood smeared on the wool. “Bernard, you don't have to do this. They won't kill you if you surrender. You can walk out of here, both of you.” 

Bernard seems genuinely shaken by his words, and for a second, Scully thinks they might be okay. But then his jaw clenches, and she knows. She knows he's made up his mind. 

“It doesn't have to end this way,” she blurts in one last grasp to change things, to fix this, to save them. To save Mulder. 

Outside, the door opens, and Scully can't see it, but she knows the SWAT team is coming in. Bernard is looking at Pam, his hand on her face, and he says, “Yeah, it does,” sadly. And reaches for the trigger. 

“ _ No _ !” Scully screams in protest, shifting in an attempt to shield Mulder, to protect him from the blast. But the blast never comes. A gunshot comes first and Bernard falls, in the same limp, puppet-strings-cut way that Mulder had. 

Pam holds the gun, the muzzle smoking, as she breaks off into wretching sobs. 

Scully is left stunned, her heart pounding, blinking in surprise at the fact that they're not dead, her hands smearing Mulder’s blood all over his shirt, the side of his face in her attempts to protect him, his hands curled tightly into her jacket. They're both breathing hard, like they can't process what's just happened. The SWAT team is shouting, Pam is on her knees with her hands in the air as she sobs. “It was the only way,” she whispers. “It's the only way. I had to make it stop. It was the only way.”

Scully is the first one to move, turning back to Mulder and pressing her hands back against the wound. “We have an agent down over here!” she bellows to anyone who will listen. “I need an ambulance!”

Her hands move a little frantically at his chest, his shirt buttons, the wound in his side. “Hang on, Mulder,” she says quietly. “I'm getting you out of here.”

Mulder laughs a little nervously, pale from loss of blood, his eyes darting from the SWAT team to Pam and back to Scully as if he can't quite believe how fast it all happened. “You okay, Scully?” he whispers gently.

She nods, moving back a bit and flattening her palm against the wound. “You're going to be okay,” she says, and is relieved to find that she does mean it. She leans forward on a relieved impulse and presses a kiss to his forehead, suddenly plagued by the strange, horrible images of Mulder being shot, Mulder bleeding out on the floor of this godforsaken bank. They've been distant these past few weeks, in the aftermath of El Rico and Diana Fowley and her anger at him, but it's hard to linger over that in the wake of this. 

Mulder looks a little surprised at the sudden affection, a little woozy from blood loss, but he doesn't seem opposed to it. He catches her hand in his bloodless one and squeezes gently.

The paramedics enter, coming to examine Mulder, and Scully moves aside reluctantly to let them work. Mulder keeps a hold of her hand, so she crouches beside him as the paramedics take stock of the situation. 

“Scully, I'm sorry,” he says suddenly, genuinely shocking her out of the silent, shaken stupor she'd been in.

She blinks hard, almost as shaken as she was when the bomb didn't go off. She laughs a little in nervous confusion, says,  “Sorry? Mulder, what the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

He doesn't laugh. He's weak and wavering, and he needs blood and medical attention, but he's holding onto her hand and he squeezes it hard once again. “A lot of things,” he says softly. “I'm sorry for… a lot of things, Scully.”

Scully wants to cry, because they could've died here, they came very close to dying here, but they didn't, and here they are. And he's apologizing, of all things, and it feels like everything could be okay between them. She squeezes his hand back, resists the urge to kiss the back of it. “We have time,” she says gently, and they do. “We'll talk about it later.”

Mulder offers her a weak smile as they lift him onto the stretcher. She lets go of his hand briefly, stands beside the stretcher as they lift it. “Hell of a way to get out of a meeting,” he says, and she laughs, thumbs a single tear from the corner of her eye. She follows the stretcher out of the bank and into the ambulance, personally not caring if she ever goes into that bank again. 

 

**v.**

Mulder doesn't go to the bank. The meeting is important, much as he hates to admit it, and he's afraid to piss off the higher-ups in the wake of just now getting the Files back. The last thing he wants is to be reassigned again. It's uncharacteristically responsible of him, but there's some part of him that refuses to go to the damn bank, no matter how essential he knows it is. He calls his landlord  and begs him to wait until the end of the day to cash the check, and the landlord begrudgingly agrees. Scully seems to approve of his decision, even if he can tell that she is bored as hell. 

The meeting stretches on forever, until Mulder feels as if he's going insane. Meetings have always been the bane of his existence, and this one feels particularly pointless. Travel expenses? They've barely gone anywhere on the Bureau's dime since the whole ordeal with Patrick Crump on the manure checks. In a few months, he's sure he and Scully will have a lot of reasons to be at this meeting, but at the moment, he's feeling shockingly pointless. 

When they finally get out of the meeting, hours later, the bullpen they pass through is buzzing with chatter. Scully decides to asks a friend she'd made in their months in the bullpen what's happened. She tells the two of them that a bank robbery gone wrong led to an explosion. Multiple casualties. Scully winces at the news, shaking her head regrettably. “That's horrible,” Mulder says. “Was it nearby?”

“Just a block away, right over on Eighth Street. Cradock Marine, I think.”

The name hits him like a wave, a shock, as Mulder takes in what has happened. “Shit,” he mumbles, and then he's turning away, stalking across the room in a moment of nervous impulse. 

“Mulder? Excuse me,” Scully says to her friend, and then she’s following him. “Mulder, what's wrong?”

He blinks rapidly, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. “That's my bank,” he says dimly. “Shit, Scully… I would've been there this morning if I hadn't decided not to go.”

Shock comes over Scully's face briefly before she recovers, shakes her head and says, “Jesus, Mulder. Thank God you decided not to go.” Her hand lands on his arm, squeezing gently, comfortingly. 

Mulder sighs, wiping his hand hard over his mouth. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, thank God.” 

Scully leans in closer until only he can hear her, speaks softly: “Are you okay?”

It's almost a shock that she's being this gentle with him, after all the tension between them for the past few weeks, the distance implemented by Scully herself. Mulder shrugs, blinking hard. “Yeah,” he says. “I just… jeez, it's weird that I didn't go. I was pretty damn determined to go. And look what would've happened if I had gone this morning.”

“A million things could happen if we made a decision differently,” Scully says. “You made the decision you made, and now you're not dead. I'd say that's something to be grateful for, no matter what caused you not to make that decision. You're alive. There's a reason for that.”

He rubs at the back of his neck, sheepish and fearful and feeling bizarrely out of place. “It just feels strange,” he admits. “It feels like I should've been there. Not because I wanted to be there. Just because… I dunno. It feels like I made the right choice.”

She looks at him carefully, maybe with a little confusion. Finally, she just says, “Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you decided to come to the meeting today. And not just because it kept Skinner from getting pissed off.” She lets go of his arm in a sudden motion, lifts her chin to meet him fully in the eye. “There wasn't anything you could've done,” she adds softly, before turning and walking away, towards the elevator. 

Mulder doesn't follow. What she's said probably makes sense to her, and probably should make sense to him, an alleviation to secondhand survivor's guilt or something. But that's not what this is. He can't put his finger on  _ what  _ it is. But he's having this bizarre feeling that both of them were supposed to be in that bank. He's halfway seeing the both of them dying there, and that makes no sense, because Scully really wasn't supposed to be in the bank. 

He can't explain it, and he doesn't know how to, and it feels wrong to project his own strange emotions onto this tragedy that he was almost a part of, but wasn't. So he doesn't. He follows Scully to the elevator, regret stinging his throat for the people who didn't make it, and a little bit of gratefulness on his part, that he decided not to go to the bank. 

 


End file.
